


A Proper Blanket Fort

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pillow & Blanket Forts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:25:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FLUUUUUUUFFFFFFFFFFFFFF. I mean, fluff like you wouldn't believe. John, Sherlock, and a blanket fort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Blanket Fort

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for hotdogsngiggles(.tumblr), who won a little contest I held. They asked for John & Sherlock dealing with the cold weather. :)

John steeled himself against the blast of cold air that hit him bodily when he stepped off the humid, fogged bus and onto the street. He hadn’t been on the bus long enough to thaw out sufficiently after the walk from the clinic and the wait at the bus stop, so his toes were still quite numb. He hoped to God that Sherlock hadn’t gotten so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the cold and thus neglected to start a fire. In the fireplace, that is. 

To his surprise (was he surprised by anything Sherlock did, though, really?) he found that Sherlock indeed had a roaring fire going, so big that John could hear the crackling as he made his way up the stairs…and yet when he came through, the sitting room was still stone-cold. 

Sherlock had moved his and John’s chairs closer together in front of the fireplace, and then had slung a sheet between them to trap more heat. John walked over and found that between this screen and the fire itself, Sherlock was lying on or underneath every other sheet, blanket, and duvet in the flat. Enclosing this nest of fabric was, it seemed, every item which Sherlock thought he might need for the next several days, so that he would not have to get up for it. He was surrounded by biscuits, nicotine patches, newspapers, books, papers, pens, his laptop, John’s laptop, and his mobile. 

Well. This was not even the worst thing that Sherlock had done this week, and John was too tired and cold to be properly angry about it. He saw an empty water bottle, and with it an opportunity to at least be a bit passive-aggressive, so he leaned down to pick it up, saying, “Let me get you another one.” 

“No, leave that there.” 

“If you insist on sitting right next to the fire all day,” John scolded, “you’re going to get dehydrated.” 

“Bring me another one if you like, but leave that one there. I’ll need it later.” 

John looked at the empty bottle, then back at Sherlock, and had a realisation. “Really?” he said. “Disgusting.” 

“I promise I won’t make it a habit once the weather gets warmer.” 

“That’s fantastic to know, but what about literally every other aspect of this situation? What am I supposed to do when I want to go to bed, for example? You’ve monopolised the blankets.” 

Sherlock shrugged at him. “Plenty of room here for you as well.” 

John sighed and put his hands on his hips, briefly surveying the sitting room. Then he grabbed the back of his chair and shoved it back and away from the fireplace, toward the sofa. It dragged the sheet down with it, and when he was finished with the chair, he snatched the sheet up and threw it onto the sofa. He grabbed Sherlock’s chair in a similarly irritable manner and pulled it away as well. “John, what are you doing?” Sherlock whinged. “You’re ruining it!” 

Ignoring this, John marched through the kitchen and into the bedroom, calling back over his shoulder, “I want all that rubbish off the floor by the time I come back!” 

Sherlock, of course, stayed where he was and did not move a muscle. He listened to the sound of angry growls and frustrated grunts for a minute and a half or so, and then John reemerged from the bedroom…dragging their huge, cumbersome mattress alongside him. “What did I just say?” he shouted at Sherlock, who snapped to attention, swiftly gathering up the blankets and everything on them and pushing them against the wall. John flopped the mattress down into the empty space. 

“Now,” he said huffily, “I’m going to put the kettle on, and when I come back, I want to see this” – he pointed at the mattress and the surrounding area – “turned into a _proper_ blanket fort, one that two adult men would be proud to cuddle in for the foreseeable future. And speaking of being an adult, since you’re already up and cold anyway, use the bloody toilet like a normal person. You’re not having a piss in a bottle in _my_ fort. Christ.” 

“Oh, it’s _your_ fort now.” 

“Bloody right.” 

Sherlock made quick work of the revised nest, replacing the chairs and the makeshift screen. The mattress had forced him to place it further back from the fire, so to make up for it, he added a kitchen chair and a second sheet, to better surround them. By the time John returned, the whole thing was set up even better than before, and Sherlock was putting another log on the fire. 

John, now in his pyjamas, set the tray on the floor and lowered himself onto the mattress. On the tray were the teapot and two steaming mugs. “No biscuits left in the kitchen, mysteriously,” John groused. 

“Good thing I’ve brought some, then,” Sherlock said, holding up the packet he’d been hoarding. 

The two men burrowed under the blankets, with only their hands and faces exposed so that they could drink their tea. Sherlock’s feet had gotten cold, so he shoved them between John’s belly and the mattress. John did not flinch, but remained stone-faced as he said, “Can you put down your tea for a moment?” 

Sherlock set his mug down on the floor, and said, “Yes, why?” 

“Thanks, it’s so I can do this.” John reached underneath himself to grab Sherlock’s feet and tickle them. Sherlock jerked and flailed, until he kicked John in the face. “Why did I think that was a good idea,” John said to himself. 

When Sherlock finished his tea, he asked, “So, are we supposed to have sex, or what’s going to happen here?” 

“We can if you like,” John said mildly.” Or we can watch Mythbusters on your laptop.” 

Sherlock bit his lip, genuinely torn about which option he wished to pursue. 

He opened his mouth and began, “Can–” 

“The answer is no,” John interrupted, “we cannot have sex _while_ you watch Mythbusters.” 

Sherlock closed his mouth. 

“Meanwhile,” John said, huddling further under the blankets, “I’m going to have a nap. Wake me when you decide.” 

But that decided it for Sherlock. He spooned up behind John, determined now to have a nap as well. He wiggled and twisted until he had two limbs over John and two limbs underneath, and they squirmed in tandem for even longer after that, trying to find something that was mutually satisfying. But only moments after finally settling, Sherlock whispered urgently, “John.” 

“Do _not_ tell me you need to get up for a piss now.” 

“No, but John…I’ve decided I want to be the little spoon.” 

“For God’s sake,” John grumbled.


End file.
